Class Act
by Glisseo
Summary: In order to appease his mother - and escape the clutches of Octavia Talbot - James must request the help of the one person who would never do him a favour ... or would she?


He maintained, for years afterwards, that none of it would never have happened if Octavia Talbot hadn't been so _utterly _insufferable.

There were people James Potter would never hesitate to speak of ill of, but witches very rarely fell into that category; on the whole, he tried to treat them well, and with respect. But with Octavia, it was different – James _despised _the woman. It wasn't just her overbearing perfume and her brash voice, it was her whole personality – the way she liked to talk about Quidditch as if she were an expert (invariably getting every fact wrong); the way she had an opinion on everything; the way she spoke to people she believed beneath her. She was the very last person that James Potter would ever consider dating, let alone marrying – but to his complete disbelief (and disgust), his mother failed to see this.

"You could do a lot worse," she would say sternly, and then proceed to give him yet another letter from Octavia, suggesting dinner 'as soon as possible'. The letter would always be thrown straight in the bin, but irritatingly, James' guilt refused to disappear so easily. The reason his mother kept pushing Octavia on him, he knew, was because she was so desperate to see him married; it couldn't be ignored that he was now nearly thirty and still single, having drifted through his twenties on a wave of almost-girlfriends that never lasted for more than a month. This had never really bothered him, for he'd never found any of them better company than his best friends, none of whom had married yet – why should he be the one to break that? No, he was _happy_.

But his mother wasn't. Quite as stubborn as James, she persisted for years, until the week before James' thirtieth birthday, when she cornered him on a visit home and brought up the subject of the party that would be thrown in his honour.

"A wizard's thirtieth birthday is a very significant event," she informed him crisply, barricading the parlour door with her whole body. "Traditionally, it is an event to showcase his whole family – his wife and children – and celebrate his many achievements in life, in personal and professional matters."

"I get the feeling I should be offended," said James, slightly stung by the implication that he hadn't achieved much professionally. Why, he had been the Arrows' top Chaser for ten years now; his home was filled with trophies and his Floo Network linked to some of the greats, and he received offers from other teams every season. According to _The Quaffle_, he was the best Chaser in the league, and according to _Witch Weekly_, he was a catch. It just so happened that nobody had caught him yet.

"Well, decide that on your own time, darling, I've got a lot to do," Lavinia replied briskly. "My point is, you are going to be very much on show at this event, and it would just look – what's that word you use? – it would look very _sad_ if you were to attend your own thirtieth birthday celebrations _alone_."

"Mum," James spluttered – he was torn between horror at his mother's attempt to adopt youthful speech and shock that she would actually say such a thing about her own son – "how can you – what do you – I'm outraged! Sad, indeed! It would show everybody that I'm an independent, career-orientated fellow who has more on his mind than women–"

"You play Quidditch, my darling. Nobody is going to think that. The impression one gets of Quidditch players is that they have _more _than enough time for romancing young witches." Lavinia's eyebrows rose in a significant manner. "I knew you would react like this. That's why I took the liberty of inviting your date for you."

Panic rushed through his body. "You _what?_"

"You remember Octavia Talbot," said Lavinia brightly. "Charming girl, and always _very _interested in you – I met her in Twilfitt and Tatting's just last week. She said she'd be delighted."

James struggled to close his mouth, and when he did, he opened it again straight away and said bluntly, "I cannot believe you have done this to me."

"Don't be so melodramatic. You gave me no choice -"

A flash of inspiration suddenly struck him; James seized his opportunity and gabbled, "so if I was dating somebody, I wouldn't have to take Octavia?"

His mother bristled. "Well, naturally, but –"

"That's all right then!" he interrupted forcefully. "You can tell Octavia she doesn't need to worry. I _am _dating somebody. I just – I just hadn't told you yet, because it's … it's only been a few weeks. Didn't want to jinx anything."

To his relief, his mother's look of surprise was turning into one of delight; she clasped her hands to her chest and beamed. _She was buying it!_

"But this is _wonderful! _Oh, Jimmy, you and your silly superstitions … what's her name? How did you meet?"

"Oh, it's a funny story," James began, before glancing theatrically at his watch and gasping, "oh gosh, I'm actually late to meet her, right now! Terribly sorry, Mum, but this'll have to wait – I suppose you'll meet her at the party –"

__- - -

He was an idiot. He was _such an idiot_. _"I suppose you'll meet her at the party"? _There was no 'her'! Oh, it had seemed like such a good idea at the time, to get his mother off his back … but now he was expected to turn up to the party with a girlfriend that did not exist.  
He sunk into a chair and gripped his head in his hands, mentally kicking himself for his stupidity. What on Earth was he supposed to do? _Find _a girl who would – who would agree to _pretend _to be his girlfriend? That couldn't possibly work.

Could it?

He dropped his hands into his lap, thinking hard. _Could _it work? It wasn't like he didn't know girls; he met plenty in the pub, usually young and falling over him, begging for an autograph … but, he thought, if he was going to have to pretend to _date _this woman, he wanted to be able to enjoy himself, at least … be able to hold intelligent conversation with her. Merlin's balls. Where was he supposed to find that?

He lost his train of thought as a loud bang echoed from the floor below. His neighbour, naturally. He had assumed that, with spending as much money as he had on a flat, he would at least have the luxury of quiet, well-behaved neighbours, but the witch downstairs was nothing of the sort. At least three times a week she would return from work and slam her front door so hard that James' whole flat would quake. Of course, he was slightly biased in his feelings towards her; he and Lily Evans had a long history.

It had been a very awkward moment when, six months ago, he had gone downstairs to greet his new neighbour and found himself face to face with a girl he had assumed he'd seen the last of on the last train ride home from Hogwarts, an assumption made with no regret at all. Lily Evans had been of Hogwarts elite, beautiful and clever and popular - and so unbelievably misguided that it made James angry. Her closest friend for seven years had been Severus Snape, James' sworn enemy, a slimy git obsessed with the Dark Arts and part of a group with a penchant for sickening misdeeds often performed on first- and second-years. Lily, a prefect, had always seemed to be unfailing moral, never letting an instance of bullying slide by (James, who had admittedly been a bit of git himself in his younger years, had been on the receiving end of her remonstrations more than once), but Snape's amorality apparently escaped her notice. For years, James had tried to make her see what a horrible person her best friend was, but she had never listened, and an incident in sixth-year had created a barrier between them that seemed unlikely to ever be broken.

It was for this reason that discovering that Lily Evans was going to be living just one floor below him had been an unpleasant surprise, but James had done his best to rise above it; if they saw each other in the hallway or the lift, they always spoke perfectly cordially to each other, even making small talk if necessary, but there was always a chill that permeated the atmosphere. Even though over ten years had passed since all that had transpired between them, the causal factors still remained: Lily was still friends with Snape, as James knew from spotting the repulsive figure in the hallway, and James was still very much a Quidditch star, a fact Lily had always seemed to have a problem with.

And it was a shame. It really was a shame, because Lily Evans was … she was the first girl who had caught James' eye, when that eye had started to pick up on the differences between girls and boys; she really was very pretty, and very witty, too – sharp and intelligent. If things had gone differently, if she had not been friends with Snape, perhaps, he often wondered if they might …

_Wait_. Was this the answer? Would Lily Evans agree to come to his party with him? Would she agree to pretend to be his girlfriend? He did want intelligent conversation, and he knew he could get that from Lily, if she complied: as the _Prophet_'s chief political correspondent, she was well-informed and bright, and though he would never admit it to her, he thought her articles some of the best he ever read.

The only problem – the slight, minor issue – was that she might not agree to go with him. But there was, really, only one way to tell.

Before he could change his mind, he leapt to his feet and strode from his flat and down the stairs, heart thudding with anticipation and – dare he admit it even to himself – fear. The last time he had done something like this … well.  
He reached Lily's door, hesitated, swung his fist up to knock, lowered it again, then gathered all his courage and knocked firmly. There was a moment of silence, then he heard muffled footsteps and the door was pulled open.

"Hello," said James politely.

Lily regarded him with suspicion. She was still in the smart robes she wore to work, but her dark red hair was dishevelled, as if she had run her hands through it many times (ironically, this was something she had found apparently insulting in James) and there were faint shadows beneath her narrowed eyes. James always tried not to look directly into her eyes; they were an unusual and very entrancing bright green, and they'd always had a strange effect on him.

"Can I help you?" she asked shortly.

"Er, I hope you can, yes. It's actually a long story, bit tricky to explain – maybe I could come in …?"

She looked over her shoulder into her flat, then back to James. Her lips pursed.

"I suppose so, yes. You're not going to try and – blow it up, or anything?" she added accusingly. "I know what you did to the Slytherin common room. All four times."

"Five."

"What?"

"Fi – nothing, doesn't matter. Er, no, I'm not going to blow it up, I promise. I've sort of outgrown all that now."

"Well, what do you know? Miracles do happen," Lily intoned sarcastically, but she gestured for James to follow her into the flat. He looked around in wonder; the layout was very similar to his, but the decoration, the furniture, the knick-knacks and random bits and bobs here and there – they were all unmistakeably Lily Evans. It was strange, but he felt as if he had been there many times before already.

"Tea?"

He glanced at her in surprise.

"I thought you'd want me out of here as soon as possible."

Lily's lips twitched. "The instinct to be a good hostess is deeply ingrained in me, I'm afraid. I can't fight it. But you must promise to drink that tea as quickly as you can. I don't care particularly if you burn your mouth." She paused. "And I'd already boiled the kettle."

"Charming," James replied, but he felt slightly more hopeful at this; she had let him in, she was – sort of – joking with him, the signs were positive. He accepted the cup of tea she brought him from the kitchen and seated himself delicately on the sofa. Lily took the armchair opposite and crossed her long legs elegantly over one another, then regarded him expectantly.

"Well? How _can _I help you? I'm not saying I will," she added quickly. "Just – what's this long story?"

"Er – I suppose it's not that long, now I think about it," James said. "It's my mother. And – me." He searched desperately for a lucid way to explain it all. "It's my thirtieth birthday next week –"

"I know."

"- and my – you _know_?"

"I remember your parties." Lily rolled her eyes. "Everybody remembers James Potter's birthday parties. The teachers used to despair on the twenty-eighth – everyone was always too exhausted or hungover to pay attention after the night before."

"Oh," said James, nonplussed. "Well – well, this is about a party. My birthday party. I'm not throwing it, it's my mum – it's tradition for a wizard's thirtieth to be a big deal, and she's organising this big shindig with loads of fancy guests and all that, you know the sort of thing."

Lily raised her eyebrows at this, and James remembered, a second too late, that she was Muggle-born; of course she wouldn't know about lavish pureblood parties, the likes of which he had grown up with. He hurried on, hoping she wouldn't be too offended by that slip.

"I hate them, these things, but – I have to go to this one, I'm sort of the guest of honour, and my mother is being _insane _about it, because apparently everybody will be shocked that I'm thirty and single, and turning up alone to my own party, and Mum is threatening me with Octavia Talbot …"

"Good gracious," said Lily. "Octavia Talbot! Poor old you." She took a sip of tea, then wrinkled her nose. "Actually, I see your point. Octavia Talbot is one of the most insufferable people I've ever had the misfortune to meet."

"Right?" James gasped, delighted with this turn of events – might she even feel sympathy for him? Oh, this was all going so well … "So … well, when Mum said that, I kind of – panicked, and I may have said that I was … already dating somebody …"

Lily's eyebrows shot into her hairline.

"You _can't _be asking what I think you are."

James shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "Well … yeah, I am. I know it was a stupid thing to say, but I _did _say it, and now I need to find someone, and if I've got to pretend to be dating them, I'd like to, you know, be able to hold a conversation with them … someone with a brain …"

"Am I the only woman you know with a brain? You clearly don't think much of the women in your life."

"No! I just – there aren't really any other women in my life," James explained. "I spend so much time with Sirius and Remus and Peter – I've never found any woman I'd _like _to spend as much time with."

Lily drummed her fingers against the arm of her chair, silent for a minute. Then she said, "but you don't _like _me."

James started automatically to protest, before realising that this was somewhat true. He certainly felt very bitter towards her; she was responsible for one of the most humiliating moments of his life …

"I … don't agree with your stance on certain matters," he opted to say instead.

"Like Severus."

"Just because I think your best friend is a horrible person doesn't mean I don't like you. Necessarily."

She almost smiled.

"Severus isn't my best friend."

James almost choked on a mouthful of tea; rivulets dribbling down his chin, he spluttered, "what?"

"He isn't my – he isn't my _friend _any more," Lily replied, her voice tight. "There were a lot of things he and I didn't see eye-to-eye on either, you know. I just … I was optimistic, and foolish, and I failed to see what was right in front of me. Then something happened that I couldn't ignore, and that was that. We haven't spoken in months."

"But I saw him in the building," said James, thoroughly confused. Lily rolled her eyes again.

"Trying to get me to change my mind. I've told him to leave me alone."

"Wow," James murmured. He stared at her; was this why she had been so … so cordial to him? Was it being free of Snape's influence?

He tried to marshal his thoughts, which were swirling round his brain in complete disarray. "Look," he said, once he had gained some semblance of order, "look, I know we don't have the greatest rela- dynamic. But I'm just asking you for a favour, OK? Just one favour. And - and if you ever need anything, feel free to ask, so long as you just do this one thing, and come with me to this party."

"And pretend to be your girlfriend."

"I feel like there are far more heinous favours of which I could have asked you," James remarked before he could stop himself. Lily's eyebrows travelled even further up her forehead.

"All right."

"All – all right?"

"Yes, all right!" She smiled, just briefly, but it was dazzling. "Drop by and give me the details at some point – soon, preferably, if I'll need to get something to wear …"

"Yeah, yeah, of course," James replied absently, still somewhat dazed. She had said yes! And he hadn't needed to cast any kind of spell – she had said _yes! _  
Now he just had to pretend to date her. He didn't think that would be hard at all, which, really, made the whole thing even more complicated.

- - -

"You've _got _to be joking."

His mother placed her hands on her hips, a stern expression once again gracing her faded features. "I most certainly am not joking. I want to meet her."

"You will meet her, next week! I've told you her name, I personally think that should be enough –"

"Darling, I hardly think it unreasonable that I should want to meet your girlfriend on a more personal level! And I will have to circulate at the party, people will be dying to know all about your paramour -"

"_Paramour_? Honestly, Mum …"

He gripped his hair in frustration. Bring Lily to tea with his mother – really! What on Earth would they talk about?

"Tea," said his mother forcefully, "on Saturday. Four o'clock. I'll be inviting some of my friends – they've already heard you have a new lady in your life, and they're simply _dying _to meet her –"

James sank his head down on to his arms, pressing his nose hard against the wooden table. "I thought," he whispered pitifully, "that I was your favourite child."

His mother kissed the top of his head. "My darling," she said gently, "you are my only child."

- - -

He had expected to have a whole week to prepare for the pretence of dating Lily Evans – not _two days_. He spent those two days floundering, spending hours with his friends in a vain attempt to gain some perspective - but it was impossible. He just wasn't _ready _for this. Lily might find it easy – she was utterly charming, the perfect girl to bring home to meet your parents – but she had not experienced what he had. In this situation, she was on a completely different level. She had no idea what he was feeling.

To her credit, given that this was really nothing to do with her, she rose to the occasion magnificently, agreeing (surprisingly easily) to accompany James to tea with his mother and friends. When James stopped by her flat to pick her up on Saturday afternoon, she came to door in a set of navy robes with pretty, intricate embroidery around the edges, her hair tied back loosely with a ribbon, and clutching a large bouquet of flowers in her hands.

"Gosh," said James, inspecting them. "Awfully thoughtful of you, Evans, but I'm actually more partial to chocolates –"

The old name slipped out before he could stop it; he hadn't called her _anything _since they had met again, but back in school, she had always been Evans to him. It made it easier.

"Shut up, _Potter_," she retorted. "They're for your mother. I hope you don't take after her."

"Not unless you consider her to be attractive, charming and witty as well."

"You _are_ charming. Charmingly misguided," Lily chirped. She locked her front door with a tap of her wand and said brightly, "shall we go?"

It felt distinctly bizarre to approach his childhood home with Lily Evans at his side. He had never brought a girl back to this house before – the thought was laughable. But it was almost worth it, bringing Lily, to see the look of awe on her face as they walked up the long, sweeping drive towards the manor.

"I really should have expected this," she said breathlessly; he could see her eyes taking in the ivy covered stone walls, the magnificent gardens. "But I don't think I could have. I could never have imagined … this. God. All this for just you and your parents?"

"Mmm," James replied distractedly. He had his eyes now on the front door, which had just opened, revealing his mother. Even from a distance away, he could see the eagerness in her eyes. He turned to Lily, who was still staring around at her surroundings with wide eyes. "Er, listen – we'd better get, you know, into character …"

"Oh, right," said Lily, snapping out of her daze. "Yeah. I'm your girlfriend. Um, do you want to – hold my hand? Will that be enough?"

"All right," James shrugged. Awkwardly, he reached out and took her hand in his. It was surprisingly clammy, and warm; his own palm was unpleasantly sweaty, and his fingers slipped straight into the gaps between hers. They looked at each other.

"James, darling!"

They had reached the front door. James – somewhat relieved – kissed his mother on the cheek, then gestured with his free hand to Lily.

"Mum, this is Lily Evans."

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Lily told his mother, a warm, pleasant smile on her face. "I brought you flowers – I hope they're all right …"

"Oh, lovely, dear," Lavinia gushed, taking the flowers and sniffing happily. "James never said – well, it's a delight to meet you, Lily. _Finally_ meet you, I should say – James keeps me woefully uninformed about the details of his life!"

"That's probably for the best," Lily smiled. James glared at her.

"Agnes and Ida are already here," Lavinia informed them. "Do come in, won't you? James, take Lily's cloak, I shouldn't have to tell you that …"

"It's fine," said Lily quickly, shrugging out of her cloak, but James, seeing his mother's sharp look, took it from her and hung it in the cupboard, before returning to follow her and Lily down the hall to the sitting room. He wasn't entirely sure he wanted those two to spend too much time alone together – that could hardly be good for him …

Agnes and Ida, two of his mother's oldest friends, bore down on him with heavily-perfumed kisses the moment he entered the room; they greeted Lily with slightly more reservation, and he could see their beady eyes taking in every detail of her, from head to toe. He could tell Lily registered it too, from the look of discomfort on her face; remembering his role, he quickly put a hand on the small of her back and ushered her to the small chaise longue.

"This is Lily," Lavinia told her friends. "See the lovely flowers she brought me? Lily, dear, this is Agnes Temperley and Ida Macmillan – very old, dear friends of mine …"

"So pretty!" Agnes cooed at once. "We've hardly heard a thing about you so far, it's all been very hush-hush – tell me, how long have you two been together?"

"Oh, it's all been very whirlwind," James answered vaguely. "Lily and I knew each other from school, we were in the same class, and we lost touch – but then she moved into the flat below mine a few months ago –"

"- and the rest, as they said, is history!" Lily chimed in, laughing. "That's really all there is to it!"

That was just the beginning of what turned out of be an endless onslaught of probing questions fired at both James and Lily.

"So Lily, what do you do?"

"Do you not mind James travelling so often? It must be difficult!"

"Now, why is it that you never dated in school? You seem so perfect for each other!"

James froze as that question left Ida's lips, accompanied by a sickly sweet smile. He glanced at Lily, who raised her eyebrows almost imperceptibly with a tiny shrug.

"I suppose the timing was just never quite right," he said lightly. "These things happen …"

"I always liked him," Lily put in, with a shy smile, and James stared at her – was she still acting? Surely …

Agnes, Ida and Lavinia all gasped and sighed.

"How sweet!"

"That is sweet," James agreed, and felt a sharp kick to his shin; gasping, he saw a cheeky grin flash across Lily's face before her demure smile returned as she answered another question.

"I could sue you for damages," he told her once they had finally escaped and were strolling back down the drive. "And emotional turmoil. To be a victim of such _violence _in my own home –"

Lily snorted. He remembered that snort; he also remembered what followed immediately after, the reddening of her face as she realised what she had done. It was unbelievably endearing.

"Stop looking at me like that," she demanded, and he jerked his gaze away from her, forcing a grin. "I know, I _know_, it's unladylike to snort …"

"I would never have called you ladylike in the first place, so please don't lose sleep over my opinion of your laugh. I actually think it suits you."

"I'm going to take that as a compliment."

"You do that."

They reached the gates, and there was an awkward pause.

"I have to go into work," Lily said after a few moments, "so I'll – go from here …"

"Right. OK."

Quick as a flash, she leaned up and kissed him on the cheek, ever so briefly. As James froze, she said, "So I'll see you on Friday? At seven?"

"Er – yeah - Friday," James stammered. "See you …"

And then she was gone. James lifted a hand to his cheek, his fingers coming away ever so slightly reddish where her lipstick had left its mark.

_What was happening?_

All throughout the next week, his hand kept drifting unconsciously to that spot where she had kissed him; he found as well that his thoughts were never far from Lily, even though – or maybe because – he didn't once see her in their building. He was thoroughly confused. What had changed? Was it just the passing of time – the fact that they had both grown up? Or was it that they were _having _to be civil to each other, and were finding that they actually enjoyed each other's company? Right from the start, from the moment they met, there had been factors pulling them away from each other, reasons not to be friends. Now most – if not all – of those factors had disappeared, could they become friends? _Would _they?

The thought made his stomach perform gymnastics; he wasn't at all sure how he had to got to this point within just a few days, how Lily Evans had gone from being his neighbour (with whom he had a long and complicated - albeit slightly one-sided - history) to being a potential _friend_. And, of course, his fake girlfriend. He felt as if he was losing control on his life, as if it was spinning out of his grasp, and he didn't like that at all.

It took a lot of effort on his part to keep a cool head in the hours leading up to seven o'clock on Friday, and even more when he finally had to take a deep breath and head down to Lily's flat. He felt extremely self-conscious in his new dress robes, delivered with a note from his mother yesterday. According to her, they were Paris' finest, but they felt as comfortable as tight nylon as he knocked on Lily's door and waited.

"Sorry, sorry!" he eventually heard Lily wail from the other side of the door, and there was a fumbling of locks, and then the door swung open and he stumbled backwards, stunned.

He had always known that Lily Evans was pretty – _everyone _had known it – but she was more than pretty tonight. He didn't even think it was the way she looked, just – just _her_, the fact that it was Lily Evans standing there in dress robes of pale blue silk, her dark red hair swept up into some fancy style, cheeks coloured … growing ever more so, he realised, the longer he stared.

"All right, Potter?" she said, as he finally blinked. "You look a bit dazed."

"Hot in here," he managed, tugging vigorously at the collar of his robes. "You look – you don't look bad at all, Evans, nice job …"

"Ah, well, thanks, but it isn't hard to look good next to you …"

He automatically swatted her arm lightly, then sprang away as his hand touched warm, bare skin; it felt as if he had been struck by a spell. To cover the awkward moment, he said quickly, "we'd better be off then, wouldn't do for the guest of honour to be late."

"Oh, perish the thought!"

- - -

The ballroom of the Potters' manor was seldom used, but one would never be able to tell, James thought, as he and Lily paused in the doorway; it was lavishly decorated and filled to bursting with hundreds beautifully dressed guests … all of whom turned to stare at Lily and James as, up on the platform at the front of the room, his father called out his name.

"What do we do?" Lily hissed in his ear, looking quite startled at the number of eyes on her.

"Just smile," James murmured back, "and walk … oh, bollocks – you'd better put your arm in mine –"

Lily hesitated for a fraction of a second before complying, slipping her elbow through the crook of James', who was struck by how perfectly – _natural _it felt – as if they had been doing this for years …

He led her carefully through the path cleared by the crowd, smiling and nodding as they passed, until they reached the platform and his father gestured for him to take the stage. Feeling oddly nervous – his job took place in front of thousands of people, for God's sake – he took out his wand and tapped it to his throat. Apparently realising what was happening, Lily pulled her arm from his and stepped backwards. Restraining the urge to protest, James moved forwards and addressed the guests.

"Thank you all so much for being here tonight," he began, his voice booming around the ballroom, "to help me celebrate my thirtieth birthday." He paused, suddenly realising – _how had he forgotten? _– he was thirty! He had been so wrapped up in his thoughts … _thirty_. He was _old_.

"I'm so grateful that you could all attend … it means so much to me," he continued hastily. "I know many of you are incredibly busy, and …" what was he saying? He was barely paying attention to himself. He didn't even _know _half these people. As he thought this, he suddenly caught sight of Sirius, lounging near the back with Remus and Peter, grinning at him.

"… and I also know that my mother put a great deal of effort into organising this event, for which I will always be appreciative … so now I'll let her speak to you all. Thank you, and enjoy the party!"

He pressed his wand to his throat again, this time muttering "_quietus." _There; he had done his official pureblood duty for the night – and, hopefully, for the next few years. As his mother started to speak, he moved swiftly into the wings, beckoning for Lily to join him.

"Thank God that's over," he muttered to her. She blinked at him. "What?"

"_What? _You didn't tell me this was going to be like – like attending with bloody _royalty_, that's what!"

James laughed.

"It's just pureblood tradition. They all take themselves way too seriously – it's easiest just to go along with it. Relax, you won't have to speak."

"You had better be telling the truth," Lily said darkly. She jabbed her thumb at the crowd, still listening intently to Lavinia. "Will _all _these people want to talk to me?"

"Yes," James told her truthfully. "But if you look like you're in conversation, some might leave you alone, so stick with me, or with Sirius or Remus or Peter."

"I assume they know about this – about what we're doing. What am I saying? Of course they do … you four are still as thick as thieves, I see."

"Of course, you can't split up the Marauders …"

Lily rolled her eyes. "Right. I'd forgotten you called yourselves that."

"I can tell you're secretly in awe," James grinned. On the main stage, his mother had now stopped talking, and the orchestra was striking up a waltz.

"Time to dance," he said to Lily, who scowled. "What's that face for? I thought girls loved dancing … _can _you dance?"

- - -

She couldn't. There were many things Lily Evans did brilliantly, but dancing was apparently not one of them; she was, however, supremely skilled in the art of stepping on James' feet. He'd had to take dancing lessons in his youth, like a good little pureblood boy, but he was finding it slightly harder to put his skills into action when his feet were throbbing as they were.

He wasn't about to complain, though, because the utter atrocity of Lily's dancing was making them both laugh so much that there was little of the awkwardness that would have most likely been there otherwise; after all, they were dancing very close together, so close he could smell her perfume, and his hands were very much _on _her …

"I'll definitely be suing you now," he groaned, as she stepped on his feet again. "Listen, the song's ending – shall we go and get a drink? Please? Alcohol might numb the pain."

"Don't be such a baby," said Lily, pulling a face, but she released her hold on him. "What do you mean, _go _and get a drink, anyway? There's champagne –"

But James had something else in mind; putting a finger to his lips, he pulled her through the throng and out into the corridor, down a set of steps and into -

"Ah. The kitchen," Lily observed, clearly trying to conceal her astonishment as she looked around at the cavernous room. "Sneaking away from your own party, really … classic James Potter."

"Is it?" James asked in surprise. He pulled a bottle of his father's best wine from the rack – it was his birthday, after all – and poured two glasses, then passed one to Lily. "Well, that may be true, but I doubt _classic _Lily Evans would ever have snuck off to the kitchens with classic James Potter."

Lily smiled. "No, you're right there. I don't think classic Lily Evans exists any more, though."

"Perhaps classic James Potter doesn't exist either."

"You could be right again. This James Potter is certainly far more … far more …"

"Charming? Suave? Debonair? Take your pick. I also have a dictionary upstairs."

Lily shook her head, laughing. "No, you're certainly classic James Potter, just without the general git-ishness."

"That's not a word." James took a large mouthful of wine, then swallowed it quickly as a thought occurred to him. Ordinarily, perhaps, he would never have said anything, never have acted, but he was feeling impulsive tonight, a feeling borne of the wine and the music and how beautiful Lily looked and the smell of her perfume …

"When I asked you do this," he said abruptly, "you said I didn't like you. But I would have more reason to believe that – to think that you didn't like _me_. Because I – you _know _I like you. Liked you."

To his surprise – and irritation – Lily did not look guilty, or embarrassed, or anything of that sort. She just looked shocked.

"What do you mean?" she asked, a tiny frown creasing her forehead. "I didn't know – I _don't_ know that. You _didn't _like me. You hated Severus, and I was friends with him, and I always told you off for being a git –"

"Yeah," said James furiously – he wasn't sure how he had become so angry so quickly, but he felt as if something red-hot was burning in his chest – "I didn't like you for that, but I still _liked _you, and I _told you that_." He stared at her, at that face, those bright green eyes, just as he had fifteen years ago. "Fifth year."

Fifth year. When he had finally had enough of wrestling with his feelings for Lily Evans, whom he constantly wanted to either shake or snog, or both. When he had seized the moment on that rainy January day – he remembered every single detail as if it were yesterday – as they had found themselves alone outside the Arithmancy classroom, both early for the lesson – and blurted out that he fancied her, and would she go out with him?

When she had looked mortified, and shaken her head vigorously, and said vehemently, "no!"

Standing in his kitchen now, fifteen years later, he could still feel the blood rush to his face, the sudden, appalling hot sting in his eyes. Poor fifteen year old James, who had tried to laugh it off, to pretend it was no bother, like girls rejected him every day – he didn't care, he would just go and ask someone else out …

And he had, but he had never forgotten that moment, the most humiliating moment of his life. And for a minute, he thought that Lily had; but then she gasped, and her hands flew to her mouth, and she cried, "you were _serious?_"

"Of course I was serious!" James shouted, his fifteen year old self's mortification turning into anger. "Don't pretend you didn't know that, why would I be joking? I told you I really fancied you –"

"And boys did that all the time, to take the piss out of girls, to humiliate them – tell them they fancied them, then when the girl said they did too, they'd turn into a big spectacle and laugh with all their friends –"

"Not to _you_," James cried in disbelief. "You were the prettiest girl in the school, no bloke ever did that to you!"

"But as you've just admitted, you didn't like me, so why wouldn't you want to embarrass me?" Lily demanded. "I had no reason to think you were serious!"

"Well," said James, "I was."

Lily's hands, which had balled into fists by her sides, uncurled.

"You were serious," she whispered. "You – you liked me."

"Yes."

"I didn't like you."

What was her _problem? _"Right, no, I think we've established that," said James furiously. "Look, this was all a big mistake, so can we just –"

"I do now."

"What?"

"I like you, now," said Lily quietly. "A lot. I didn't expect to. But … it's been fun, pretending to be your girlfriend. More fun than I've had in a long time. I love spending time with you, it's great, you make me laugh more than anyone and you're just so – so –"

"Charming," James suggested, though he felt as if his heart might burst out of his chest at any second, it was beating so fast. "Suave. Debonair."

"If you say so," Lily murmured, and then she kissed him, or perhaps he kissed her – they would argue over that for years to come, but always conclude that it didn't really matter, because damn it, it was one hell of a kiss.

- - -

No, none of it would ever have happened if Octavia Talbot hadn't been so _utterly _insufferable, and James tried to express his gratitude in the thank you card; he only hoped that would be enough to make up for the fact that she hadn't been invited to the wedding.


End file.
